


Don't Complicate It

by Carlet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time Fusion, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlet/pseuds/Carlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met on a Monday, after Emma chewed him for taking too long when it was really just her own impatience. He continued to show up morning after morning, the mysterious, flirty stranger that just couldn't leave her alone, who she couldn't help but be drawn to. By the following week, he already loved her. And two weeks later, their lives would become forever intertwined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

Monday

Damnit, it was cold. Emma Swan wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and hugged her jacket closer, wishing that it was just a little thicker, just a little more effective against the biting wind. A hot drink sounded just about right, so just as she did every morning, Emma pushed open the door to the coffee shop across the street from her apartment.

It wasn’t one of her particularly favorite places, as it seemed as though every other person in Boston at that hour always had to have their coffee then, making the lines there insane. But she was a creature of habit. Always had been and always would be. She couldn’t help but go to the exact same Starbucks every morning even though it’d inevitably cause her to become irritated and grouchy.

Good morning, man with briefcase and students always studying at the last minute. She thought wryly as she caught a glimpse of several of the other “usual” customers at that coffee shop every morning. The man with the briefcase in the dark suit and tie, clearly heading off to some fancy investment banking job. The three students with heavy looking backpacks that were always quizzing each other. The harried looking woman who was always seen juggling four cups of steaming coffee in one of those cardboard carriers. Emma had deduced that she was most likely the office bitch in whatever unfortunate job she had.

And of course there was her, the bail bonds person. Wearing the exact same leather jacket every morning, buying her preferred drink: a chai tea latte. She fit in along with everybody else at that Starbucks, peacefully coexisting without actually bothering to acknowledge each other’s existences.

Her phone vibrated, and she looked down at the screen. There was a notification from the surveillance camera she’d hooked up to her phone so that she could monitor the embezzler of the week. Over several days of careful observation, she had his schedule down to the minute. He left his apartment building every morning promptly at 8:30. And right now it was...8:02. Plenty of time for her to get her drink and hop into her car to stalk him.

Yeah, she lived a wonderful life.

She was so focused on squinting at the grainy video feed on her phone that she barely noticed the person in front of her until she bumped directly into him. Emma muttered an apology without looking up, but then noticed the person’s shoes. Instead of the usual shiny leather shoes that the briefcase man wore, this person donned worn black boots.

Emma blinked in surprise. She was not staring at briefcase’s man blazer covered black, but instead at a black leather jacket. Who was that and where had he come from? She’d been to this Starbucks every morning (and sometimes afternoon) for as long as she could remember and if she’d seen him before you’d think she’d recognize him.

Well, maybe he’s someone new. That’s not entirely unheard of. Sometimes people go to different Starbucks. She just shrugged and turned her attention back to her phone. The line moved a little forward, and she relaxed. One more person wouldn’t hold her up too much; the baristas knew what they were doing.

One person passed through the line, and then another and another until the stranger was up. Emma watched as he stepped up to the counter to order. Finally, the next person was her and then she’d be on her way out.

But fifteen minutes later, the stranger was still talking to the barista, gesturing wildly with his hands and pointing at the menu. What. The. Hell?!

Emma bounced up and down in place impatiently as she silently she seethed, glaring at the back of the stranger’s black leather jacket. Who in the hell did he think he was, just holding up the line? So inconsiderate, considering the long line of people behind her, all tapping their feet and glancing at their watches, clearing their throats in not so subtle attempts to communicate their impatience.

That cup the barista was writing on right now? That should be hers. Instead of whatever name she was writing in that awful handwriting of hers, it should say “Emma”, though the barista’s handwriting sucked so badly it usually ended up looking more like “Erma”.

Because of him, she was going to be late.

“It’s just a drink.” She muttered to herself. “Don’t be so picky and quit blocking the line.”

And then she couldn’t take it anymore. Before she knew what she was doing, she was marching straight up to him, hand reaching out to yank on his shoulder. “Listen, buddy…”

He turned around. “Yes?”

Blue. That was all she could she see, the deeply intense blue of his eyes that stood out starkly against his pale skin. That, coupled along with the purposely messy head of black hair and the layer of scruff that perfectly highlighted his chiseled jaw was enough to render her speechless. The only word she was capable of saying was: how? As in, how could a human being be so perfect?

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “How...what?”

Oh God. An accent too. Could he honestly be any more perfect? Was he even real, or just a hallucination produced by her lack of caffeine?

Lack of caffeine. Right. Starbucks. Emma instantly snapped back to reality, anger flooding back. “What I meant to say was...are you through blocking the line yet?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, don’t you pardon me.” Emma snapped, mocking his admittedly sexy accent. Pardon. It was like heaven to her ears. She briefly wondered what her name would sound like rolling off his tongue. “You’ve been holding up the line for the past twenty minutes, and I got one have places to be. I'm pretty sure I can speak for the rest of the line when I say that you are being too damn picky. Just take your coffee and go!"  
He just looked at her, that infuriating smile on his face.

"Excuse me." Emma planted her hands on her hips. "Do I amuse?"

"Quite a bit, yes."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Did you say twenty minutes, love? By my count it's only been," he looked down at his watch. "five minutes, at the most."

"What?!" Emma took out her phone. No way. Only five minutes had passed yet it felt like a lot more. She blushed furiously and tucked the iPhone away. "Doesn't matter. You, sir," she poked him squarely in the chest. "are taking way too long. I’m going to be late and it’s all your fault."

"Sir? Do I look like someone you would call sir?"

No. Whatever his name was, it was clearly one that would cause any girl to immediately go weak at the knees. But she was not going to give him that satisfaction because that was the answer he was expecting.

"Just hurry up and buy your coffee and move along."

"If it bothers you that much, lass, you can go ahead." He stepped aside (rather chivalrously, too) and brandished an arm out, gesturing to the now free counter. "It's all yours."

Without bothering to say anything Emma brushed curtly by him and pulled out her wallet. "One chai tea latte."

"You know," a voice said to her right. Was he honestly still standing there? "a thanks would be nice."

Emma ignored him.

He continued. "Because I just sacrificed my time for you, and that's a few minutes I will never get back."

Ignore him and maybe he'll go away.

Or maybe not. As Emma waited for the barista to fill the cup, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “What?”

“The least you could do is tell me your name.”

Emma taped the counter in front of her, irritation building up in the back of her throat. Would he ever leave her alone? “No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” He persisted.

She didn’t say anything, instead toyed with a random straw wrapper that had been left behind.

He nudged her shoulder again. “Come on. It’s just that simple. Tell me your name.”

She threw him an annoyed look. “So that you can continue to hit on me? No thanks.”

He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the counter next to her. “And who says I’m hitting on you?”

No response.

“I see how it is. You’re a tough lass. Well, don’t worry.” Suddenly his lips were dangerously close to her ear, and she could feel his breath on her skin. “I like a challenge.”

Emma had to suppress a grin. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

“If you just tell me your name, I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

She crossed her arms and stared fiercely at him. She couldn’t help it; it was a knee jerk reaction after years of abuse and abandonment. “Really.”

“Really. Here, I’ll start. Name’s Killian Jones.”

Killian. Wow. Just the way his name danced off his tongue made her chest ache and her brain turn to mush. Killian. Killian, Killian, Killian. Of course he had that name. Someone that beautiful couldn’t be named Bob or Joe.

“Now I believe it’s your turn.” Killian said. “You are…?”

Just then, the barista slapped a steaming cup in front of her, and Emma scooped it up. “Outta here.” She said, shooting him a tight grin as she swept past him. “I’m outta here.”

“Hey!” He called after her. “That’s cheating.”

Sucks to suck. As she made her way into the frigid winter air, she had to fight the urge to look back and stare one last time at the handsome stranger. This would probably be the first and last time she’d run into him, seeing as Boston was a pretty big city.

And she was not late that day.


	2. Tuesday

Tuesday

 

Killian was there again. Standing in line, looking placidly around the crowded store as if he had no care in the world. A sound of disbelief escaped as she walked right up to him.

 

“Are you stalking me?”

 

He turned around, recognition lighting up in his brilliant blue eyes. “Oh, hello there, Ms. Outta Here. Quite a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

 

“Cut the crap. What are you doing here?”

 

“Same thing as you and everyone else. Purchasing my morning coffee.”

 

“Somehow I don’t think so.”

 

“And why’s that? Is it illegal for a man to go to Starbucks?”

 

“No, but I’ve been coming here every morning for the past several years and never before have I seen you.”

 

“So that means I’m stalking you? Is it so hard to believe that maybe I just like to come here?”

 

“No, it’s hard to believe because aside from yesterday you’ve never been here before. Excuse me for being a little suspicious.”

 

“Oh, so now you’re keeping tabs on me.”

 

“…what?” Emma sputtered. “No!”

 

“Oh, just admit it, love. You find me attractive. It’s alright, darling. Nothing to be ashamed of. I have that effect on women.”

 

“Wow.” She snorted. “Wow. You’re full of it, you know that?”

 

“But not entirely wrong.”

 

“Well, you are this time. I’m not affected by you whatsoever.”

 

He leaned in a little closer, a brilliant smile crossing his scruff covered face. “Really?”

 

She briefly wondered what that scruff would feel like against her face before realizing what she was thinking and quickly looking away. Before she could answer, the line moved forward and he started off toward the counter.

 

“See you tomorrow, love.”


	3. Wednesday

Wednesday

Headphones firmly in her ears, Emma made her way to Starbucks, tapping her toes to the beat of the loud rock music blaring from her iPhone. Headphones were the universal, unspoken sign for leave me the fuck alone. This was a foolproof plan to keep Killian away from her. All she wanted was to go in, get her coffee, and leave.

It seemed as though he had other ideas, though. Seconds after Emma slipped into line (behind the briefcase man again, thank God), she felt a tap on her shoulder. Without turning around she knew it was Killian. She ignored it, but within seconds there was another tap on the shoulder.

“Hey.” He said loudly.

God, was this guy for real?

She cranked up the volume and started to tap her feet as the music began pounding from her headphones in hopes that he would take the hint.

Apparently, the odds were not in her favor this morning. A minute later, she heard his voice again despite the music. “Lovely morning today isn’t it?”

She continued to nod her head to the beat and ignored his attempts. Two songs later, she lowered the volume to check if Killian was still there and heard nothing.

All of a sudden, a head popped up at her side. “Still here, love.” Killian grinned cockily.

Gritting her teeth, Emma pulled out one earbud, not even bothering to flash a fake smile on her face. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” He responded. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Uh huh.” Emma deadpanned before refocusing on her music. But barely a minute later he was waving a hand in front of her face.

“What!?” She all but snapped.

“I was trying to get your attention. You didn’t seem to hear me.” Killian playfully pulled out one of her earbuds and winced at the screeching guitar. “Bloody hell, love, you really shouldn’t listen to your music this loudly. It’s bad for your ears.”

“Yes, well it helps me tune out people.” Like you. She added silently. “Did you want something or are you just bored?”

“I wanted to ask you how your morning was.” He grinned widely, as if he knew exactly how much he was annoying her.

Emma took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. If she punched him right now she’d probably be kicked out, and she was almost to the front of the line. “Fine.” She replied stiffly.

She was about to turn around when he added, “Aren’t you going to ask me how my morning was?”

Emma sighed and yanked out the other headphone; she was never going to be able to tune this guy out. “No. I don’t particularly care.”

He pressed a hand to his heart dramatically and gasped. “Why, you wound me with your apathy.”

She chuckled. “Wound? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” The line shifted forward as briefcase man stepped up to order his usual tall drip.

“Want to share a scone? That blueberry one over seems rather tasty.”

“No thank you. I’m not really a breakfast person.”

“But,” Killian gasped, visibly shocked. “breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“So? I’ve never eaten breakfast and I don’t intend to.”

“Come on.” He urged. “They’re very yummy.”

“Then have one all by yourself. You’re a big boy, you can handle it.” She paused. Did that sound flirty? The last thing she wanted was to send the wrong signal.

“I can assure you, I’m anything but a boy.” Said his throaty voice in her ear.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” Emma said grimly. “But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to tell it to someone who cares.” And then she was up to order her coffee, leaving him behind.

Tough luck.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4: Thursday

_Thursday_

Late. She was late, late, late. It was one of those bad days where everything just seemed to go wrong. First, she'd overslept by a mere thirteen and a half minutes thanks to her malfunctioning alarm clock, which threw off her entire morning off. Her favorite jeans had somehow ripped, she couldn't find her boots, and her jacket was dirty.

Of course, although it would've made up for her lateness if she just skipped Starbucks, she still had to have her daily caffeine fix, otherwise her day would suck even worse. So Emma speed walked up the street to Starbucks, keeping an eye on the clock the entire time. She forced her legs to go faster and faster, already anticipating the line. On her way, she passed briefcase man, who walked towards his office as he slowly sipped his coffee; it was like the universe was taunting her. She had to suppress the urge to snatch the cup and throw it at his head.

She burst through the door and marched straight over to the line at the counter. When it was her turn, she ordered her usual then proceeded towards the door. As she was walking, she raised the cup up to her lips to take a sip.

"Aw shit!" She muttered to herself, dripping some of the hot liquid down her chin and staining her blouse.

"Napkin, love?" A tan napkin with the telltale Starbucks logo printed on it appeared in front of her.

She glanced up and her eyes directly met a pair of increasingly familiar blue eyes. She sighed, yet took the offered napkin. "Thanks."

"I know exactly how it feels to wake up late and have a terrible morning. Such a rough start on the day. Ah, well the day can only get better from here, don't you agree?" Killian stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching Emma furiously dab at the stain with an amused expression.

"Look, I don't have time for this right now. You're right. I am late. Now, if you would kindly excuse me, I have to go."

"But, of course, I'm always kind! In fact, I was nominated Most Friendly back in grade school." He proudly announced.

"Did you now? Well, guess what? I don't really care for your life story. And besides, you said 'nominated' not 'win' so your walk down memory lane doesn't really peak my interest." Emma smirked.

"That is your way of telling me to share more stories, isn't it love? Well, you see, though I didn't win Most Friendly, I did win-"

"I don't care! Just leave me alone!" She shouted, rudely interrupting him mid flashback. She speed walked to the trashcan and threw away the dirty napkins angrily, then proceeded towards the exit.

As she neared the door, she turned her head to say one last thing to Killian. His mouth opened and he began to say something, yet she spoke over his words.. "And please! For the love of God, just-"

Boom! She crashed straight into someone entering Starbucks in the classic collide: her bag went flying into the air, their heads smashed together, and worst of all, her hot cup of coffee poured down her chest.

"I was trying to tell you to watch out." Killian quietly said.

Emma ignored the uncomfortable way her shirt stuck to her skin, ignored the slowly forming blisters from the hot liquid, ignored the flabberghasted looks other customers were giving her, and most of all, ignored how much of an idiot she probably looked right now. She didn't care in the least. She had had enough.

"It's all your fault!" She screamed and rushed out the door. Killian stood behind. If she'd thought to look back she would've seen him staring amusedly at her rapidly retreating form.

"What did I do?"


	5. Chapter 5: Friday

_Friday_

It somehow became a game for the two of them to try and beat each other to Starbucks every morning.

"Good morning." He said cheerfully, lifting a hand as she stepped into line behind him. "Rather chilly today, isn't it?"

 _Damnit, he was faster than her again._ Emma shot him a scathing glare that would've sent most men running in fear. "How did you get here so fast?"

"It's called walking. You should try it sometime."

"Haha, very funny."

"Aren't I, though?"

She rolled her eyes. Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out. Just her video surveillance feed for the perp of the week. She could feel Killian looming over her shoulder, and she turned away.

"Watcha looking at?"

"None of your business." Emma retorted.

He seemed to deflate for a moment at her response (obviously he wasn't used to rejection), but a moment later she could feel him bounce back. "What're ya getting?"

"A drink." Emma said without looking up from her phone.

"Aye, I gathered that seeing as we're currently in Starbucks, but which drink?"

"A grande I'm not telling you."

"Well, I'm getting an Americano. What about you?" When there was no answer, he added, "You know, when someone tells you something about the it's usually customary to reply."

"Mmm."

"We're going to be here a long time." He gestured at the long line weaving around the store. "Might as well get to know each other."

"Fine." She huffed. "A chai tea latte. Happy?"

He chuckled, triumphant that he'd finally gotten her to open up. It was deep and throaty and practically vibrated the entire room. "Very."


	6. Chapter 6: Saturday

_Saturday_

Emma hurried all through her morning routine, quickly showering and running a comb through her hair, throwing on the first clothes she found before dashing out the door. She was going to beat Killian to Starbucks today, she could feel it.

But it seemed like he had the right idea; as she waited to cross the street she could see a tall, dark, leather clad form heading her way _._ Oh, no. Nuh uh, she did not hurry for nothing. Emma pushed the button over and over.  _Come on, come on, come on, light. Change colors._

Finally, the light did change, and she practically threw herself across the street. Killian was just steps behind her. His footsteps reverberated on the pavement as his solid boots thumped closer and closer. She willed her legs to go faster, and slipped into line just seconds before he did.

"Ha!" She grinned. "Beat ya."

"I've gotta say," Killian began. "I never thought I'd see one of those."

"What?" She taunted. She couldn't help it, she'd always had a naturally competitive side. "Me beating you? Well you better get used to it, Jones."

"I was talking about that." He nodded his head toward her face. "A smile."

And just like that her face instantly colored (what was it about the effect he had on her?) and she had to turn away. "Oh."

Maybe he'd sensed that her defenses were down, or maybe he just wanted to talk to her, because he asked, "So are you getting that tea thing again?"

"It's called a chai tea latte. And yes, I am."

"Again? Ever heard of trying something new?"

"I'm perfectly happy with my drink of choice, thank you very much."

"Oh," he said. "so you're one of those."

Emma frowned. "One of  _what?_ "

"One of those people who always stick to the same things. I, for one, like to try something new everyday." As soon as the words left his mouth he looked meaningfully at her.

"I do not do the same thing everyday!" Emma protested.

"Yes, you do. You may not know this, but I can read you like an open book. The first day you met me? You  _hated_ that I'd taken the same place you take in line everyday. You've been rotating between the same three jackets and I just know that despite your hatred of long lines you cannot help but come to this very Starbucks every morning."

"Wow." Emma crossed her arms, impressed. "Now who's keeping tabs on who?"

"Just an observation, love."

Ok, she had to get one thing straight. Casual banter was one thing but she was not going to let it go any further. "I am  _not_ your love."

"But you want to be, right?"

"Nope."

"All right then. What do you suggest I call you?"

She wagged her finger in his face. "I see what you're doing there, dude. Trying to trick me into telling you my name. Well that's not gonna happen."

Just then, one of the baristas slapped two steaming cups on the counter. "I have a chai tea latte for Erma and a white chocolate mocha for Killian."

Killian grabbed the cup before Emma could reach it. "HA!" He snapped his fingers triumphantly. "So that's your name. Erma!"

"Ew, no. Now give me my cup back." She tried to make a grab for it, but he held it out of her reach.

"But that's what it says on the cup." He pointed to the messy black scrawl on the side of the cup. "Erma. Hm. I never would've pegged you as an Erma."

"No! My name's Emma. I don't know why they insist on spelling it wrong every day. It's only four letters. Not that hard."

"Emma. Emma. He repeated, nodding meaningfully. "Now that's more like it. I like it. Suits you."

Even though she'd never admit it, she liked the way her name danced off his tongue, and the way he'd repeated it, as though it was something beautiful and rich, something to be savored.

Emma made another reach for drink but yet again he sidestepped her. "Give me my drink back!"

"Not until you tell me your last name."

She stomped her foot. "Jones! Not funny. I'm going to be late."

"Aye, that you are, so you better hurry up and reveal it to me. Tell me, Emma, what is the name that follows your beautiful name?"

She tried to grab his cup but he quickly swiped it off the counter. "Damnit, I mean it. Give me my cup."

"You've bested me once before and I'm not about to let it happen again. You'll get your drink when you tell me your last name."

 _And let him win? What fun would that be?_ In a fluid motion, she stomped on his foot, causing him to release her cup with a groan. Catching it before it hit the ground, Emma scooped up her precious latte and swept past him.

"Whoops." She grinned. "Looks like you lost again."

He looked up, hopping on one foot, but he didn't seem mad. "You're a devious one."

"Guess I am. That'll teach you to try and steal my caffeine." Before she pushed the door open, though, she paused and turned back.

"And it's Swan."

"What?" He asked.

"My last name. It's Swan."

Killian scratched behind his ear (a nervous habit he'd developed) as he watched her walk out.  _Emma Swan._ So that was the name of the blonde princess who'd captured his attention, causing him to walk ten blocks uptown to this very Starbucks every morning.


	7. Sunday

_Sunday_

"Morning, Swan." He said in her ear. "I see you beat me here yet again."

"Yes, I did." There was a note of triumph in her voice. "Jealous?"

"Oh, no, not at all. You see, from back here I get to enjoy the view."

Emma reached out and smacked the top of his arm. "Keep your eyes up, buddy."

"But love, I was talking about the menu. I wanted to think about which drink to order this morning. How self centered of you to think that my gaze would be entirely focused on you?"

"Uh huh." She said, undeterred. "Nice save."

The line moved as someone left with their drink, and everybody shifted up.

"There are a lot of people here on a Sunday morning." Killian commented.

"Yes, well you know how important caffeine can be."

"But look over there." He pointed across the room to a family of four, seated by the window. Two kids, a boy and a girl, sat with their parents. A half eaten cookie sat in the center of the table as they chatted. "Even the young ones need their caffeine?"

"It's probably just hot chocolate." She shoved his arm back down. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to point?"

He kept staring, though. "Don't you find it funny how the parents and the brother all have brown hair, while the young lass has red? Wonder what happened there." He mused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "My money is on the mother; she looks like a wild one."

Emma swiveled around to look at the family. "What do you...oh." She said as she realized. "Your mind is sure twisted."

"But it's a possibility."

"Yes, of course, but for all we know the girl could just be adopted. Didn't you think of that?"

"Why would somebody give up their child for adoption though?"

Emma felt something curl in the pit of her stomach. "There are lots of reasons." She said, trying to keep her voice placid. "You never know."

"But why, though?" He pressed. "A  _child._ Your very own flesh and blood, your pride and joy. Who would do such a thing?"

They were edging too close for comfort. "Well, there are always lots of circumstances that don't allow a parent to keep their child. So with that said, want to split a muffin-" She tried changing the subject, but to no avail, as Killian steamrolled on.

"Maybe, but I believe it has to do more with irresponsibility."

"What's  _that_ supposed to mean?"

He sighed, scratching the back of his head, behind his ear. "Parents should never abandon their-"

"Yes, I completely agree, but it's not  _abandonment_ if the parent has a good reason."

Killian gave her a funny look. "You're quite passionate about this, aren't you Swan?"

"Well...yes!"

"Why, though? I mean, you couldn't possibly know-"

"And why not?" A bitter edge began to creep into her voice. "What makes you think that?" For the first time in nearly ten years, she could feel herself grow angry. Not just regular angry, but the gut wrenching, red tinging anger that completely changed a person.

Man was smart though, as he sensed her anger and started to change the subject. "Look, I didn't mean to offend you. How about we go back to talking about hot chocolate?"

"No, I'd much rather know all about what you think you know about me."

He sighed. "Swan…"

" _Just tell me._ "

"Fine." He said, looking conflicted. He clearly knew he was just digging himself into a hole. "I just meant that you couldn't possibly know-you didn't seem like the type."

"The type to what?" She snapped, goading him on. "The type to abandon their kid? What if I am? Then what?"

"But you're not." He insisted. "You're not the type."

"Don't go around making assumptions about things you don't know."

"I do know you though. I mean, I know your type."

"Oh, so now I'm a type?"

"That's not what I meant. Don't put words in my mouth."

"Then do care to share with the class what you mean."

"Well," he began carefully. "from what I know, the people who abandon their children are the type who are unfit. They are irresponsible, unable to give their child their basic needs, selfish. That's not you at all."

"You're making it sound like giving your child up for adoption is a bad thing. There's a difference between abandonment and adoption."

"Not really, no. If someone has a child it is their duty to stay with that child, no matter what happens. Anyone can pull together to take care of their child. It's not that hard."

"But  _sometimes_ they can't."

"And again, you're speaking as if you've had some sort of experience with this."

"Maybe I have. Does that surprise you?"

"But like I said, there's no way. You don't seem like the drunk, drug addicted-"

"Try eighteen, alone and in jail."

He choked and quickly coughed to cover it up. "...what?"

"You think it was possible for me to, as you say,  _pull together and take care of my child?_ Well, no it wasn't! I was in foster care for my entire life. I'd never had anyone to tuck me in and hold my hand on the way to school. I couldn't be a mother. I didn't have one and there was no way I could be one."

He just blinked, surprise washing all over his handsome face.

"Shocking, right? You didn't think that an innocent looking blonde would be the horrible type to abandon their child? Well I'm here to tell you that you're  _wrong,_ buddy. You're wrong. You and your horribly narrow minded assumptions are so wrong it makes me laugh."

"I...I had no idea."

"Yeah, you didn't. So what made you think that you had the right to go around and just say those things? You don't know anything, Jones. Maybe something like this happened in your past and maybe it didn't. But either way it doesn't give you the right to assume."

"I'm sorry." He said, looking stricken.

"You should be. The next time you go around and open that big mouth of yours, try actually thinking for once." And then she was swishing past him, walking determinedly towards the exit. It was the first day in years she'd gone without her morning caffeine fix, but right now she was so mad she was shaking.

The door swung open just as soon as it shut behind her. "Emma, wait!" In a few strides he'd caught up to her. "I'm sorry!" He placed a hand on her arm. "Wait."

She wrenched out of his grasp. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry-"

"You know what?" She snapped, turning back to glare at him. "I am so sick of people like you. My whole life, all I've ever encountered were people who judged me. Told me I couldn't do certain things, called me names just because I was abandoned on the side of the road as a baby. Stared at me in jail as I walked by, knowing full well that they thought of me as the useless whore who was unlucky enough to get herself pregnant as well as incarcerated. Well, fuck it. I don't need to deal with the likes of you anymore."

Oh, God. She didn't know why she'd just blurted out her entire life story (save for some other unsavory details, of course) to a mostly complete stranger. Maybe it had to do with the kindness that she'd seen in his eyes, causing her to subconsciously deem him trustworthy. Either way, though, she was done listening to his bullshit.

She was about to walk away again when he jumped desperately in front of her. "I didn't mean to say those things, Emma. It's just that," and here he paused, eyes flickering uncertainly. "I too have been abandoned by my parents when I was young. My mother died as a child, and after that my father turned to the bottle. It wasn't long after that when one morning he was gone without a trace, leaving my older brother and I to fend for ourselves."

Oh, just perfect. Just as she was ready to fully unleash her wrath on him, he had to go and show that he wasn't just a pompous, judgemental ass.

"So that's why you felt that way."

"Aye. To me, my father just gave up when it became too much work for him. I assure you that I truly did not know of your story, nor did I mean to offend you in any way. I never thought of it the other way, as his abandonment as always clouded my judgement."

He looked so earnest, so desperate, so apologetic that suddenly, her anger dissipated into nothing, leaving her feeling worn out. He too, like her, had suffered, and just like her it changed him. She could remember many times when her own anger at her parents and Neal had clouded her judgement so much she'd made all the wrong decisions. It wouldn't be fair to hold his actions against him when she'd been just the same way. "It's alright." She said, despite her instincts to walk away as fast as she could. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's not your fault you're so narrow minded."

It was a weird thought, but telling him her story made her feel a little lighter. It was like after you cried so much you actually felt better, even though your life still sucked.

He shot her a hopeful smile. "I deserved it, though."

"Yeah, I suppose you did." She half smiled at him in return, conveying that she wasn't angry anymore.

"I feel just terrible, so how about we go back in and you let me buy you your drink?" He opened the door, holding it for her. "Chai tea latte, right?"

"That's right. And let's add a bagel to that too."

"I thought you didn't eat breakfast."

"I don't, usually. But you owe me." She was going to tell him to not tell anyone else what she'd told him, but then realized she didn't have to.

She trusted him.


	8. Monday

_Monday_

"Can I get a chai tea latte?"

"Sure, and would you like to try a scone? They're fresh out of the oven and super yummy."

"No thanks."

"Actually," a voice said from her side. "she'd love to have one."

Emma knew without turning around that it was Killian. "Just ignore him, he's kidding." She told the barista. "Just the latte, thanks."

"No, actually  _she's_ kidding." Killian responded. When Emma turned around to glare at him, he flashed her a lazy smile. "She wants the scone, trust me."

" _No,_ I  _don't._ "

"Yes, you do."

"Don't be silly, you know I don't eat breakfast."

The barista blinked as she looked from Emma to Killian to Emma again, very similar to how one does when watching a riveting game of tennis. "Umm…so would you-he-you like the scone then?"

"Yes." Killian said.

At the same time, Emma responded with a resounding "No!"

Behind them, a harried sounding man spoke up. "Either she wants the scone or she doesn't. Would you two lovebirds just hurry up with it?"

"Oh, no, no, no. We're not lovebirds!" Emma shot back.

"That's my Swan. Feisty, isn't she?" Killian threw his arm around her and grinned widely. "Always in denial. It's quite alright, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Love is a beautiful, rare, thing that must be cherished, not hidden."

Somebody snickered in the background. "This is better than anything I've seen on TV."

She shrugged out of his grasp and threw him a dirty look. " _Stop_."

"Well that's certainly a word I didn't hear last night. Not that I minded." He added, almost like an afterthought.

Emma's jaw hit the ground with a loud thump as she gaped at him, her face coloring dramatically. "What the hell?!"

"Come on, Swan." Killian said, gesturing to the display case of food. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and look at how delicious those scones look."

"That may be true, but I don't want one." She said firmly, turning back to the barista. "Just the latte, and that's final."

She was handing the obviously very confused barista a couple of dollars for her drink when Killian swooped in and thrust down a twenty.

"I've got this, and add the scone too." He winked at the barista, who took the money.

" _Killian!_ "

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse milady this morning." He announced to the long line behind him. "My Swan got up on the wrong side of the bed." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. " _It's that time of month again, I'm afraid._ "

"Wow. How horribly sexist of you. And what the hell do you think you're doing? Is there something wrong with you? Did you forget to take your meds this morning?"

" _Ooohhh."_ Chorused the students, who sat in cushy looking armchairs in the back, nursing large cups of coffee.

"See?" Killian shrugged as if to say,  _women._ "Now she's accusing  _me._ What did I tell you?"

"He's. Crazy." Emma insisted. "I'm perfectly fine and I most certainly am not his Swan! I barely even know him!"

"Now, now, Emma." Killian placed a hand on her shoulder in a faux-tender gesture. "It's quite all right, love, to be angry. But no need to yell at all of these lovely people. It's not their fault." To the crowd he added, "She does this every so often, insisting that she doesn't know me. It's quite entertaining once you've grown accustomed. Of course, sometimes she does resort to violence."

As if on cue, Emma slapped his arm. "Yeah, it's not their fault you're a complete psycho."

"Me?" He pressed a hand to his chest in a fake dramatic gesture and gasped loudly. "Psycho? Why, is that any way to address your dashingly handsome-"

"Alright, that's it." Emma grabbed his sleeve and started to haul him away. "Outside, now."

"What can I say?" Killian addressed the crowd as he let himself be dragged out. "I'm irresistible. Looks like we shouldn't have gotten out of bed after all."

Once they were outside, she started ranting. "Really? REALLY? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Come on, don't be mad. I was just having a little fun."

"Fun? You let all of those people in there think that we're.. _dating._  And that we were going to...we were going to…" She couldn't bring herself to actually say the words.

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing."

"Well…" Emma sputtered, clearly at a loss for words. "I...you made me look like a crazy person."

"No, darling, I did none of that.  _You_ did, by going against everything I said. If you had just agreed with me everything would've gone smoothly. Of course, it wouldn't have been as fun."

Emma mentally rewound her words from earlier and could only clench her fists as she realized that he was right. "Oh, well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"You honestly didn't think that was pretty entertaining?" He chuckled. "Did you see the look on that old man's face? He looked pretty startled."

Suddenly, she started to snicker despite herself as the old man's face floated to the forefront of her mind. "Oh yeah, and the way the barista's head jerked back and forth? She looked so confused!"

And then the two of them were laughing. Not just the regular laughing people do when they see a funny movie, but the side splitting, tear jerking, doubling over, full out guffawing that only comes from something so ridiculous and crazy that could only be reacted to by laughing.

"Oh my God." Emma wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. Her voice was hoarse from laughing. "I don't think I've laughed like that in years."

"Neither have I."

"But if you do that again," Emma suddenly grew serious. "I'm going to kill you."

"Duly noted."

Somehow, they started walking down the street. It was a new development, as they usually parted ways after leaving Starbucks. But both felt so comfortable with the other and neither wanted to be the first to leave.

"Want some?" Killian tilted the scone towards Emma and waved it under her nose. "It's goooddd."

"Why not? Free food is free food, right?"

"That it is." He held up his coffee cup in agreement. "And, uh, just so you know...by dragging me outside like that, you just made it look even more like we're dating."

Emma groaned. "Gimmee that." She said as she made a swipe for the paper bag that held the scone.

He broke off a piece and handed it to her. "Good, isn't it?"

"No. I just need something to stop me from wringing your neck."

"Whatever you say, Swan."


	9. Tuesday

_Tuesday_

Emma slammed her hands against the counter. "No. Way."

Killian nodded emphatically. "Yes way." He raised an eyebrow, fixing her with an amused stare. "What's so hard to believe about it?"

"Uh, the fact that you and I have the same tomato issues is pretty hard to believe." Emma deadpanned. "I've never met anyone like that before."

"Well, I've never met anyone quite like you as well." He caught her gaze and stared intently at her; she looked away, feeling uncomfortable from the intensity in the deep blue orbs. It felt a little less like their usual friendly exchanges and like…something more.

She laughed nervously. "Yeah, well. Ketchup in your cup of noodles, sandwich with only one tomato slice, and  _burgers with just the tomato taste but not actually any tomatoes as well?_ No way, just no freaking way. I thought I was the only one!"

"Yeah, no, I have a funny relationship with tomatoes as well. They make everything soggy, yet they taste so good. But soggy food is disgusting."

"Which is why you need the perfect balance." Emma finished.  _Wow. Was this guy her soulmate or something?_ "Where have you been all my life?" She joked.

Emma barely noticed or minded that she had missed her chance to finally pin down the embezzler she'd been trying to catch for the past two weeks. Unlike the usual ones, he was more clever, more slippery. It was beyond frustrating, sure, but she knew that she'd be able to get him in the end.

It was more fun to hang back and talk to Killian.

"Hey," she reached out and touched the inside of his wrist, where a scar curved along the skin. "what happened here?"

He automatically withdrew his hand, recoiling as if he'd been burned.

Emma flinched. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..." She wasn't exactly sure how to finish that sentence.

"Its ok." He replied. "Its just a-" He paused, scratching behind his ear, something she'd learned was a particular nervous habit of his. "bit of a sore subject."

Her voice was soft. "What happened?" And then immediately hated herself for asking that. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I shouldn't have been prying."

"Its alright." He answered. "I, uh, I...I tried to kill myself."

"I-oh wow." Emma was totally and completely blindsided. She'd been expecting something like a car accident.

"I know, I don't seem like the type. Too dashing." He joked. "It was a really dark period of my life I don't like to talk about."

"That's fine, we can continue talking about tomatoes."

"But I want to share it with you." He added.

She felt her face grow hot. "You do?"

He nodded. "It was just after my Milah, my ex, was killed. We were at a restaurant when suddenly these men with guns come in."

Oh, no. Emma could see where this was going. She placed a hand atop his. "Killian..."

"I was too late. She was killed." He suddenly looked as though he'd aged about ten years. "I couldn't save her."

"You can't blame yourself."

"I can't?" He looked into her eyes and all she could see was the raw guilt that he still carried inside, carefully hidden by his flirty exterior. "I just stood there while she was killed. I did nothing to stop it. It should've been me."

She squeezed his hand, hoping to convey how sorry she was, hoping that he'd find this small gesture comforting. "Don't say that."

"But it's true, Swan. Its my fault she died."

"So you tried to kill yourself."

"Aye. I just couldn't live with the guilt anymore. But of course," he laughed ruefully. "I failed. How's that for irony? She died unintentionally because of something I failed to do, and I couldn't die no matter how hard I tried."

Emma reached out and traced the raised, pinkish scar with her finger, feeling a little tingle as she did so. "Then what happened?"

He shrugged. "I moved around a bunch and tried to forget myself and what happened. I've never been able to get over what happened. That is, until I met you." He said jokingly, but there was a trace of seriousness in his eyes.

"Oh." She chuckled nervously. "Well then good thing you randomly decided to hold up the line here then."

"Aye."

She wanted to tell him all about Neal. She knew she could trust him despite not having known each other for very long. She'd told him about most of her past, and he hadn't run away screaming. He understood. "I..." She started.

Killian looked up. "Yes?"

But she couldn't. She just couldn't risk it. "I'm glad you told me this." She finished lamely.

"Me too."


	10. Wednesday

_Wednesday_

"Morning."

Emma looked up from the counter where she was stirring her drink. "Oh, hey. Morning."

Killian loomed down over her. She could see little flecks of snow sprinkled throughout his dark hair, one even sitting unnoticed atop his eyebrow. It was so adorable that she wanted to reach out and brush it away.

"Did you get your drink yet? What is it again today?"

He held up a white cup. "Aye. It's a caramel macchiato. Want some?"

Emma waved away the proffered drink. "No thanks. Do you get something different every morning?"

"That I do, Swan. You see, I believe that life is short, so I must try as many caffeinated drinks as I can."

"That's a hell of a philosophy. Aren't you ever afraid of getting something gross?"

"Of course, but life's intended to be spent as a series of adventures. A less than savory drink is just simply one of them."

"Wow." Emma commented. "I don't think I could do that. I'm perfectly happy with my chai tea latte."

"I have yet to try it. Is it really as good as you make it sound?"

"If it wasn't I wouldn't get it every morning." She held out the cup and he took a tiny sip, his nose immediately wrinkling.

"Ugh. That was…"

"An adventure?" She teased.

"A horrible one." He spat. "How do you drink that bloody garbage?"

Emma shrugged. "The taste grows on you."

Killian sputtered and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Well, I know what  _not_ to try now."

"I'm glad I saved you from going down that road then."

"At least I tried it." He mocked. "That's more than you can say. You know, I'm going to get you to try something new."

"Good luck with that."

"No, really I'm serious. Whether you like it or not, you are going to drink something other than that," he shuddered dramatically. " _horrible_ garbage."

"I'm good, but thanks for the offer. I'm quite satisfied with my latte. It's the only thing that keeps me going every morning."

"I didn't realize you were so passionate about your caffeine, Swan."

Emma just scoffed. "Maybe there's a lot you don't know about me."

He fixed his gaze on her; the amusement in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by something serious, something that Emma couldn't quite grasp. "Perhaps I'd like to."

"Like to what?"

"Get to know you better."

Oh, no. Something had shifted in the air, from friendly banter to something Emma was not about to let happen. She could feel her head spinning, her vision blurring, something twisting painfully in her chest as her fight or flight reaction began to kick in. There was a word for whatever she was feeling. "Um, I should probably go or I'm going to be late-"

"No, wait." He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I'm quite serious. What do you say I take you out for a drink?"

Oh, yeah. It was called fear.

Quickly realizing that her jaw was hanging open, Emma shut it. His face was open, earnest, no sign of trickery or malice in his blue eyes. But it was always the honest ones who ended up burning her. "Killian, I don't think so."

"Hear me out. We'll hang out, have some rum, or whatever you would like. Rum's my preferred drink but we can have anything you'd like. It'll be fun."

It took her a second to realize that he was nervous, rambling quickly. He reached out to scratch behind his ear. "Well?"

"I don't know…"

"Come on, Swan. There's this great new bar that just opened by my place and they have these hot wings that are to die for. I'm sure you'd like them."

"You don't know me." Somehow, a hard edge had slipped into her voice. "You don't know me at all."

"Yes, so that's why I'd like to-"

"No." Emma said harshly. "No, I know your type. You go around all adorable and charming and flirty because you think that'll get you any woman you'd like. And most of the time it works, and everyone you encounter just falls to your feet and goes along with everything you say. But not me. I've dealt with your type before and I know that it just ends with me getting hurt. So thanks, but no thanks."

"But you don't even know me. How can you just assume?"

"Because I know exactly who you are and I'm not interested."

He studied her intently for a long moment. "Who hurt you, Emma?"

"What are you talking-"

"Don't deny it. I can see it in your face. What happened?"

Something ugly crossed her face, completely transforming her features. "Don't talk about things you don't know." She said, her voice low and dangerous. And then she was gone, throwing her drink over her shoulder into the trash before storming out.


	11. Thursday

Thursday

He wasn't there the next morning.

At first, Emma thought he was merely running behind. She stood in line, checking her phone, people watching, breathing in the coffee scented air as money was exchanged for caffeinated drinks.

It took her several minutes to realize what she was doing above all: checking over her shoulder for him. She kept expecting his dark leather jacket clad form to cross the threshold of the coffee shop at any moment, shaking the snow from his hair. He'd step into line, maybe walking up to tap her on the shoulder and say something inappropriate yet charming that always seemed to make the long line go by faster. He would make fun of her for always drinking the same thing, maybe offer to share something for breakfast (she had yet to accept his offer). Then she'd leave, one part annoyed and two parts amused.

She'd come to expect it, come to get used to his intrusion. So his absence right now was making her feel weirdly unsettled.

He couldn't be...no. There was no way. He always came for his morning caffeine fix. Always. He was just running late, she was sure of it.

She stopped thinking he was late about twenty minutes later. He was late sometimes, sure, but not to this extent.

He was avoiding her.

Which she really shouldn't be surprised about-she'd been pretty rude yesterday. Had it been necessary? One voice inside said yes, absolutely, but another kept whispering doubts in her ear.

Either way, though, she was free of him. It was better that way. He was getting too close. She was letting her guard down a little too easily. The memory of what happened last time she let someone in was still fresh, the pain still raw. This was for the best.

Then why did she feel so empty inside?

"Hi, can I help who's next?"

Squaring her shoulders, Emma vowed never to think about him again. What's done was done, and there was nothing she could do about it. She'd made the right decision, and in time she'd stop feeling so...guilty. Yes, guilty. She decided that this awful, stomach churning feeling inside was just guilt over how she'd treated him. She'd been a little harsh, yes, but it was what he deserved.

It was easier to associate this feeling with guilt rather than something like, say, regret. Because she did NOT regret turning him down.

End of story, goodbye, the end.

"Can I get a chai tea latte please?"

"Sure. Name?"

"Emma." She lowered a hand into her purse, waiting for her fingers to hit the worn in leather of her wallet. But her fingers hit open air. Strange. Emma set her bag atop the counter and opened it. Phone, pen, headphones, keys. But no wallet. She must've left it in the kitchen when she switched bags this morning.

"Really?" She muttered to herself, rooting through her bag once, twice, and three more fruitless times. Now she'd have to go all the way back home, get her wallet, come back, and wait in line all over again. Which would make her late. Which would mean she would have to skip her latte. Which would mean no caffeine.

Oh, yeah, this was a great morning.

Sighing deeply, Emma swept her stuff back into her bag and plastered an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry, I think I forgot my wallet." She was turning away to leave when suddenly a dark jacket clad arm snaked its way past her and placed a five dollar bill on the counter.

"No worries, I got this."

It was him, all right, but something was off. Maybe it was the stiffer way in which he held himself this morning, like he wasn't quite comfortable in his skin.

(Or maybe not quite comfortable around her).

"Oh, no…"

"It's fine." He interrupted, already pushing the bill to the barista.

He still cared! Not that she cared, of course. Because she didn't. Care, that is. She didn't care that he still cared-oh God, that was too many "careds". She was losing it.

She looked up at him and felt like something hit her from behind. His face was completely devoid of any emotion, the eyes that usually sparkled with mirth blank. It was him, but at the same time not him at all. "Thanks."

"No problem." Said the Killian doppelganger.

Emma could've let him leave, she really could. She'd vowed to cut her losses and move on. But he'd just paid for her freaking drink.

"Killian, wait."

He turned and looked down at her hand, which she immediately withdrew, feeling awkward. "Hello." Even his voice sounded different, less comforting. Yesterday it had felt like home, and today it was more like a hotel. Foreign. Distant.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He shrugged.

"Um…so you're later today." Emma started awkwardly. "Bad traffic?"

Killian shrugged again. "Yeah."

Wow, this was not going well. "You gonna get any coffee?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Just coffee."

"Really?" She teased, nudging him playfully. "Just coffee? It's never just coffee with you. C'mon, what will it be today?"

Killian sighed. Emma could see a vein throbbing in his forehead. It looked like he was trying hard to restrain himself. "Yes, Emma. Just coffee. Look, if you have nothing to say then I should be going."

"Wait." Emma stopped him again, and he turned around, exasperation written all over his face. "We need to talk about yesterday."

"It's all right." He replied. "You made your intentions quite clear, and I will honor that. I'm sorry for any trouble I may have caused you."

"No, you didn't and I'm the one who should be sorry. I was unnecessarily rude and you didn't deserve it."

A small hint of a smile tugged at the edge of his lips. "Continue."

"Everything came out all wrong. What I meant to say was that I think we'd be better as friends. I mean, let's not complicate it, right? We have a good thing going."

He smiled, but his blue eyes lacked their usual spark. "Aye. I see your point."

Something weird flooded through her, replacing the guilt inside as soon as the words left his lips. "So are we good?"

Killian nodded.

Emma smiled. "Good. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"That you will, Swan." With a nod of his head, he turned to leave and Emma slipped into line. A few seconds later she realized what that feeling had been.

Pure relief.


	12. Chapter 12: Friday

_Friday_

"Hi, I'd like a chai tea latte." Emma said without looking up from her phone.

"I'm sorry," the barista said. "but we're all out. It'll be about a twenty minute wait. Unless, of course, you'd rather just order something else? We're having a special on our white chocolate mochas."

Irritation bubbled up inside, but nevertheless she replied, "No, that's fine", and was about to step aside to let the next customer order when there was a voice from behind her.

"Why don't you just try something new?" It was Killian, of course. He'd somehow beat her that morning and was already holding a cup.

"Morning." She said, completely disregarding his statement.

"Morning. Why don't you just try something new?"

"No."

"Come on."

"No." She repeated. "What are you still doing here anyway? Don't you have to go to work?"

"I was, but then I saw I had the chance to see you try something other than that  _horrible_ drink you choke down every morning."

"You're going to be waiting quite a while then buddy, since the day I drink something else will be...oh wait, that will never happen. And my latte isn't horrible! You just have no taste."

"So you're telling me you'd rather wait twenty minutes rather than just drink something else?"

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you think I'm crazy."

"Perhaps you are. Just try the mocha. You'll like it, I promise."

"No thanks. I'm fine waiting, really."

"Just think about what you could do in twenty minutes, though. Watch a video, take a nap, eat breakfast. And you're choosing to waste all of that time by standing, waiting for a useless drink. A bloody travesty, really."

"Have you forgotten that I don't eat breakfast?"

"I could  _never_ forget anything about you."

"Right, so then you should also not forget that I don't drink anything else. Period."

He groaned. "Why are you so bloody stubborn?"

"Why are you so irritating?" She shot back.

"Irritating? Why, Emma, how horribly insulting of you to say such a dastardly thing. People have called me many things, but never  _irritating._ "

"Then they should've, because that's what you are."

"If I'm irritating, then you're stubborn."

In a fluid motion, she reached for the pitcher of milk and held it high above his head. "Say that again why don't you."

"Oh, you wouldn't."

"Try me."

He just smiled and stood back on his heels. "Go ahead. I dare you."

"You don't think I will?"

"No, I know you won't. Because then you'd feel bad."

"You're forgetting that I don't have feelings."

"You do. Everybody has feelings. You're just particularly skillful at masking yours."

She ignored his jab. "Shut up."

"You're stubborn. Stu-bborn. Emma Swan is a stubborn mule."

Emma glared at him. "Say that again and I swear I'll do it." She waved the pitcher over his head so that a little drop of milk was dangling off the edge. "That nice, clean shirt of yours could use some stains. You'll get to walk around all day, smelling like sour milk. Imagine how fun that'd be."

"Stubborn." Killian continued loudly. "She is so stubborn she'd walk right into a wall just to prove a-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, for that's when Emma chose to let the milk drop. More specifically, not over his head, but all over his shoes.

"Hey!" Killian sputtered, picking up his feet and staring at the stained sneakers in disdain. "What the hell, lass?"

Emma just shrugged breezily. "You asked for it." And then when he was nice and distracted, reaching for a napkin, she snatched the white cup curled in his hand and started off towards the door.

"My coffee!"

"Not anymore it's not. Thanks for the drink. Again."

She made her way into the chilly winter morning and brought the cup to her lips, craving the rush that caffeine always delivered. As the sweet liquid ran down her throat, a small smile began to spread across her face.

 _White chocolate mocha. Hmm, not too bad._ Maybe trying something new wasn't entirely horrible.

 


	13. Saturday

_Saturday_

"You know what I was thinking?" Emma said in lieu of a greeting. There were dark circles under her eyes and her clothes were wrinkled. "Men are pigs."

"Should I be running?" Killian joked.

"Ha, funny, you're so funny." She responded dryly. "No, but seriously."

"Does your sudden hatred for the opposite gender have something to do with the alarmingly fast rate in which you're tossing back that coffee right now?"

"Shut up, I'm exhausted. I haven't slept for," she squinted at the clock on the wall. "nearly thirty six hours now."

"Bloody hell." He said, sounding concerned. "Why?"

"Because," Emma huffed, reaching to tie her hair back with the hair tie around her wrist. "I was staking out someone."

"I take it this someone is particularly slippery?"

"Oh yeah, you have no idea. Get this. He embezzled from their employer without getting caught somehow, quit their job, gets another job, does the same thing three months later, and then quits and starts over again. And the whole time he's feeding his family lies about all his work troubles, forcing his wife to work three crappy side jobs and leave their young kids home alone. What's he doing with all the money, you ask? Betting most of it away and using the rest to treat his long line of secret girlfriends. Buying them extravagant gifts, taking them out to exclusive restaurants, exotic destinations, you name it."

Killian whistled. "That's pretty awful."

"Oh, I'm not done. His three year old daughter is starting to forget what her dad looks like, and does he care? Nope! In the meantime, he's gotten two of his secret flings pregnant. Probably going to abandon those poor children when they're born."

"What a bastard."

"That doesn't even begin to describe him." Emma said darkly. "And I get stuck with the oh so fun task of staking him out by the fancy hotel downtown that he usually likes to keep his girlfriends in. But he never showed up last night, so I sat there with my eyes glued to the hotel entrance all night long. Which brings me to my conclusion. Men are dirty, good for nothing pigs."

"Are you sure? I could name a few who aren't necessarily-"

"Cut the crap. I wasn't talking about you. Just men in general."

"You know, the adamant way in which you're saying this is leading me to believe that you're referring not to the embezzling cheater, but somebody entirely different."

 _Was she honestly that transparent?_ "No."

"You know, Swan, you can lie to me but you can't lie to yourself. Actually, on second thought you can't lie to me either. You see, you may not believe this but you're a bit of an open book."

Emma surreptitiously tried to rearrange her features into a placid mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Someone hurt you, didn't they?"

"Seriously, I don't know what you're talking about." She started gathering her stuff to leave (when in doubt, run!) but he placed a hand on top of hers.

"You can tell me, you know. I trusted you enough to tell you about Milah. You can trust me too."

"Funny how people always say that right before they screw you over."

"I think we've proved that I'm not like everyone else. I'm much more handsome." He joked. "But seriously. You can trust me. We're friends."

Was it just her or was the last word just the tiniest bit forced?

"If I betray you in any way you have my permission to inflict whatever painful punishment on me that you'd like. Not that I'd give you any reason to need to do so, of course, but just know that the offer stands."

"Why do want to know so badly? Why is this so important to you?"

"Because whatever happened,  _whoever_ happened really hurt you. I can tell in the wary way in which you looked at me that first day, at everyone in general. You hold yourself differently, as if you're wearing an invisible suit of armor. I know it partly has to do with your lack of a family but I also know that something happened in the past that cemented that last brick in the wall you've built around you."

His bluntness was making her uncomfortable.

"I'm not saying I can help, but telling me might take away some of the pain you clearly still have. If anything you'll feel lighter. I know that you think it'll never get better, that you'll live in misery forever but that's not true. After I told you about what happened with Milah I felt almost instantly lighter. Isn't it worth a try?"

"I guess." But she still sounded uncertain.

"You have my word that you can trust me." He said seriously. "Have I ever given you any reason not to?"

"No, I suppose not."

Maybe he was right. Maybe it  _would_ help to tell him. Part of her was terrified, wanted to bolt out the door and never look back. But the other part of her asked whether or not he'd proven himself trustworthy.

And the answer was a resounding yes.

But... _no._ Neal had given her every reason to trust him. Of course, with him she hadn't felt that instant connection she did with Killian. Still, though. She'd vowed to never take a chance on someone again.

"Emma?"

She all but snapped, bristling at his gentle tone. What was it with him and always trying to pry into her life? What was it about him and his ability to make her feel so open and exposed? "Why do you care? What do you want to know, anyway? You want me to tell you all about how for the first time in my life, I was happy? I was in love and I thought I had a chance of having a family? How stupid that dream was, because that's exactly what it was? Just a foolish dream because he set me up to take the fall for a crime  _he_ committed, sending me to jail?"

A tear had made its way out of her eye against her will. "What do you want to hear about, how I found out I was pregnant with  _his_ child? How I had to give him up, my very last chance at not being alone forever because I knew there was no way I could take care of him in the way he deserved? How I had to do the one thing I swore I never would, abandon my child the way I was abandoned?"

His hand had found its way over hers, covering it protectively. "He wasn't worthy of you."

"That's what they all say."

"But it's true. Whoever he was, he will rot in hell forever and regret for the rest of his life what he did. He's not worth having your heart broken over."

"What makes you think my heart's broken?"

He just gave her a look as if to say,  _please._ "It's written all over your face. Open book, remember?"

She studied his face, narrowing her eyes as she found the tiniest of twinkles in his eyes. "Excuse me, do I amuse? You look like you're trying to hide a smile. What about this makes you so happy?"

"Because," he started, reaching out to thumb away any stray tears leftover. "if your heart is broken, it means it still works." Seeing as she didn't shy away, he took the opportunity to lean closer and closer.

Emma watched as his face slowly inched towards hers. And in that moment, she'd never wanted anything more. It was going to feel  _so_ good,  _so_ right. She had two choices: run like mad or take a chance on him. And right now, not running and trying something new sounded just right.

Within seconds, his lips were on hers, as soft and sweet as she'd known they'd be. Her heart was pounding, trying to bruise her chest. Nothing had ever felt so perfect.

But then, the memory of her first kiss with Neal popped up unbiddingly. How right that had felt too, how perfect their time together had been until it wasn't, until it all came crashing down.

"I'm sorry," she sighed and turned her head away so that his lips touched down on her hair. "I-I can't."

 _What are you doing?!_ A voice inside screamed.  _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!_

He nodded, a shadowy look crossing his face as he touched his lips with a hand. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly forward of me."

_He's not Neal! He wouldn't hurt me like that!_

But she didn't know that. There would be no real way of knowing that until it was too late.

"I was just hoping you'd feel the way I did." He admitted. "I know you said we should remain friends but I don't know if I can. Emma, love, you've had your heart broken more times than I care to count. You've known nothing except people leaving you. But what you don't know is that I'm in it for the long haul. I promise I will never hurt you they way you've been hurt. I will fight against your walls until they are reduced to dust. No matter what you do to repel me, I will still be here. I will do whatever it takes to win your heart."

The look on his face was so raw, so vulnerable, that Emma wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. It would be so easy to, all she had to do was lean forward a little bit and they could pick up where they left off.

"I-I don't feel the same way though." She said, keeping her eyes down. If she looked at him her defenses would crumble. "I'm really sorry."

_LIAR!_

He smiled but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "It's alright, you made your intentions quite clear before. It was my fault. Friends. That's what you want and that's what we shall be. Friends."

Emma opened her mouth to say something else, say that she'd lied, maybe, but before she could he'd stood up.

"Looks like it's time for me to go to work. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be here."

He paused by her chair, staring meaningfully at her, hoping that she'd speak up and say otherwise, ask him to stay, tell him she'd been wrong, that she  _did_ feel the same way. But she just looked down and sipped her coffee.

"Goodbye, Swan."

"Bye." Emma said without looking up. As soon as she was sure he was gone, though, she crumpled up her cup in one hand, loudly cursing everyone in her past who had taken away her ability to trust.

 


	14. Sunday

_Sunday_

She wanted to let go, she honestly did. As she met him in line as per usual, as they laughed, talked, chatted, mocked each other, pushed each other around like two kids on the playground who were too afraid to admit that they liked each other, she thought,  _I could do it. I could let go._

If she just leaned a little forward, she could accidentally on purpose land her lips atop of his. He'd be surprised at first, sure, but she knew he'd eagerly respond. He'd wrap his arms around her, her hands would entangle in his hair, and they'd just lose themselves to each other. They'd forget their own names, forget where they were, forget everything.

Eventually she'd pull away, and he'd pout all cute and adorable, like a puppy. She'd blush, and he'd gently tease her as they got their coffee and left. They'd go and see one of the movies they both talked about wanting to watch, but probably be too distracted with each other to even pay attention to the movie.

One day they'd have a fake fight at Starbucks, similar to the actual one they'd had when he'd insisted on getting the scone. And then afterwards they'd fall to the ground with laughter, clutching their stomachs as tears streamed down their faces at everyone's hilarious reactions.

She wouldn't have to spend birthdays alone anymore. Wouldn't have to buy such a pathetic amount of food at the grocery store each week. Her bed wouldn't be cold and empty as she got into it each night. She wouldn't have to pile pillows on either side of her, and there would be another toothbrush next to hers by the sink. She'd actually have someone to exchange gifts with for Christmas, and she'd come home to someone.

Home. Her apartment wouldn't just be a dwelling, a house, but a home.

Maybe they'd get into a fight over something big, or maybe something stupid. She wouldn't cry, of course. She rarely, if ever, cried. But she'd smash things and sulk, snapping at people. She'd curse him and ache for him all at the same time. And eventually they'd make up. There would be shouting, horrible yelling, but in the end they'd both apologize.

And if things turned out all right, if she didn't drive him away with her commitment issues and mile high walls, perhaps her silly childhood dreams of getting married would come true. She'd thought they would with Neal, but look at how well that had turned out. Killian was different, though. She knew he wouldn't abandon her like that.

Above all, she'd be happy. She'd finally be happy.

But these were all just dreams, because she couldn't let go.

"Swan?"

Emma blinked. He was waving his hand in front of her face. "Yeah?"

"You should drink up, it looks like you dozed off for a minute there."

"Oh," she forced a laugh and took a large sip. "yeah I got back pretty late last night. You know how work is. Still haven't caught that bastard."

"Aye, unfortunately I do and I'm sorry." He responded. "And speaking of, as much as I would like to stay here, I should really be going. I need to cover somebody's shifts today."

"Fun."

"Isn't it? Enjoy your Sunday, love, and I hope it's better than mine."

As Emma watched him walk away, waving over his shoulder, she had the fleeting feeling that she was watching her own dreams evaporate into thin air.


	15. Monday

_Monday_

Looking back on it, it was so ironic it was funny. Not just funny, but downright hilarious. The ridiculousness of the situation was just so, well,  _ridiculous_ that she could hardly wrap her mind around it.

How fitting was it, that history repeated itself? But that was what happened to her: repeats. She'd been abandoned by her parents, only to abandon her own child. Neal had left her, and now...a choked sob started to form in her throat at the thought, and she had to push it out of her mind.

_Not here. Not now._

Also it was funny how much time she spent in these types of places. Eleven years ago she'd been on the other side, and now she was one of the so called "good guys".

Eleven at night on a Monday was starkly different from, say, a Friday or Saturday night. While those days would inevitably be filled with drunken partiers, dressed to the nines or in sloppy, alcohol soaked clothing, Mondays were much quieter. While she could've people watched on a Friday/Saturday night, speculating about what their stories were, there was nothing to do, nothing to distract herself with other than stare at the murky contents of the cup of hot chocolate that had been pressed into her hand.

Funny how the people who worked in these places always thought styrofoam cups of crappy drinks could solve anything.

She swirled her cup, trying to think about anything other than the events of the past hours. Outside the dirty window, the city was dark, although not quiet. People were sleeping, driving home, settling in for the night.

Last night, he'd been one of them.

A door opened, and a kindly looking officer came out, a cup of what she was sure would be nasty, metallic tasting coffee curled in his hand. "Emma Swan?"

She stood up and gathered her coat in her arms. "That's me."

"Come with me. They're ready for your statement now." He held out the styrofoam cup to her. "Coffee?"

The sudden smell of coffee made her stomach turn. She wasn't sure she'd be able to drink coffee, let alone set foot in Starbucks, for the rest of her life. "No thanks."

He nodded. "Follow me."

She made her way down the hallway, idly marveling at how all these places always seemed to look the same. Closed doors, full of files to represent countless people, reduced to a name or number printed on a piece of paper. She almost wanted to stop this from being typed up in a report; there would never be enough words to accurately describe him.

"Please state your name for me." The officer said as he switched on the recorder.

"Emma Swan." She said tonelessly, eyes focused straight ahead at the red light of the camera but yet not seeing it, or anything all the same.

"Tell me in your own words what happened."

Emma took a deep breath and began "I met him at Starbucks like I've been doing for a couple weeks now…"

* * *

_Twelve hours earlier._

"What're you drinking?" Emma asked, settling down in the cushy armchair across from his.

He lifted the cup so that it was level with her face. "Guess.'

"Mmm." She said, sniffing and squinting at the dark contents. "A chai tea latte? I thought you didn't like those."

"Neither did I, but the taste grows on you."

She smiled away the obvious symbolism of his response and took a sip of her own drink. "Well, it's a day of surprises, since," and here she held up her cup to his face. "I'm actually having something new."

Blatant shock filtered across his face. "Are you now? Looks like I'm having more of an influence on you than I thought."

"I guess you are." She tilted her cup to his and clinked them against each other. "Good for you."

"I thought I'd never see the day Emma Swan willingly drank something other than her latte."

"Me neither." She admitted.  _Just like how she'd never thought she'd see the day she'd have a connection with another person._

"So I was thinking," he began. "I know how much you've been wanting to go to the Imagine Dragons concert this weekend. I have a friend with a few extra tickets he doesn't need."

"I-"

"And I know what you're going to say, Swan, that you don't feel the same way and all that. But it's not a date. We'd just be two mates."

"You didn't give me a chance to finish. I'd love to go with you."

"Great." He beamed. "I'll pick you up at-" He paused, for suddenly the room had grown very quiet. There was some sort of disturbance going on up front, yet Emma and Killian were sitting in the far back corner, too far away to see what was going on.

"Everyone get down!" A voice said loudly. It belonged to a tall figure standing up by the cashier. He was flanked by two other men.

They could see everyone instantly obeying, though they had no idea why. And then Emma saw the unmistakable flash of metal and she was pulling Killian down with her. She cursed herself as she realized that she'd left home without her gun today, thinking she wouldn't need it.

"Lock the door." The man said, pointing his gun at the barista, who had gone sheet white. She nodded and scurried over, hand trembling as she did so.

"Now close all the windows and turn out the lights. Hurry!"

Once the room was dark, the man began to speak again. "Now, we don't want to hurt any of you but we will if you don't give us what we want."

As the man spoke, the others held out a basket to collect everyone's phones. Emma looked over at Killian, who had gone white as well. His jaw was clenched and she could tell he was terrified, even though he wasn't showing it.

"It's alright." He murmured, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

When one of the men came around with the basket of phones, both placed theirs inside; as soon as he turned around, though, Emma surreptitiously reached into the inside pocket of her jacket.

"I know," she responded. "because I never leave the house with this." She quickly showed him her backup phone, just fast enough so that he got a glance before she was tucking it into her back pocket.

"We're looking for someone." The man with the guy was saying. "We know that she comes here every morning. Like we said, we don't want to hurt any of you, so as soon as Emma Swan reveals herself we will leave."

_Emma Swan._

As soon as the words left the man's lips, she could feel Killian tense beside her.

"We will give Emma five minutes to reveal herself. After that, for every minute she does not stand up we will shoot somebody until we find her." The man finished, pulling out a chair and sitting down, never releasing his grip from the gun. "Five minutes begins now."

Emma was rather good at staying under the radar, never letting people know that she existed. It was a trick she'd learned in foster care and perfected in prison. If they didn't know you, they couldn't hurt you.

So she thanked her lucky stars for this particular trait as she knelt in the far back corner of Starbucks; even though she'd been coming here every morning for years she'd never bothered to get to know anybody.

"Who is he?" Killian muttered in her ear. "What does he want with you?"

"I don't know." Emma answered honestly. She'd placed so many people in jail, angered so many families that this man could be any out of the dozens she'd caught. There was no telling who he was.

But then she caught a glimpse of his profile, at the way his nose sloped down, the way his hair curled over his ears. Noticed his blatantly expensive suit. And then she knew.

"Oh God." She whispered. "It's him. The one I told you about a couple of days ago."

"The one with all the girlfriends?"

"That's the one." She said grimly. "How did he find me?"

"I'm guessing he has good connections. What are we going to do?"

"This," she snaked a hand into her pocket and began dialing as quietly as she could. "and hope that the cops show up before he makes good on his threat."

"Two minutes." The man announced, surveying the store. When his eyes swept over Emma, they bore no sign of recognition. So he must know  _of_ her, know that she was after him, but he didn't actually know who she was. Or maybe it was because she was mostly hidden in the shadows.

"Swan." Killian hissed urgently. "Have you got a hold of the police yet?"

"It's a little hard to dial when it's in your pocket."

"The five minutes are almost up."

"I know!" Emma said in frustration. Her finger hit the side of the phone and she cursed quietly. "Shit, I think I just turned it off."

"Fifty seconds." The man said. There was a vein pulsing in the middle of his forehead as he stood up and switched off the safety, causing everyone to scurry even farther backwards.

Fifty seconds. It would take longer than that to turn the phone back on and then somehow call the police.

With a sudden clarity, three facts came to her.

_One. There was no way she could allow any of these people to die for her._

_Two. All they wanted was her, right? They would back off and leave once they had what they came for._

_Three. One life for countless dozens. Though she'd inevitably die, it would be the right thing to do._

"No, Swan!" Killian grabbed her arm as if he knew exactly what she was planning to do. "You can't go with them."

"What choice do I have? I can't let them kill all these people!"

"No! I can't let you do this."

"I  _have_ to." She turned her head so that she was facing him. She was startled to find that there were tears in his eyes. "It's the right thing to do."

"There has to be another way. You'll  _die._ "

"Ten seconds!" The man boomed. "Emma Swan, will you allow these people to die for you, or will you stop hiding and reveal yourself?

"If there was I'd do it in a heartbeat." She reached out and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Alright, time's up!" The man said. "I think I'll start with-"

"Don't." Emma stood up before he could finish his sentence. "I'm here."

"Ah, Ms. Swan." The man sneered, his lip curling with pleasure. "That certainly took you long enough, didn't it?"

Her heart was pounding as if preparing to leap and make its way out of her chest. "Don't shoot anybody." She said as bravely as she could. Her entire body was trembling so hard it was a miracle she was still standing.

"I won't, now that you've done us all a favor and revealed yourself."

"What do you want with me?" She asked, casually snaking a hand to her back pocket. Maybe if she kept talking and bought them some time she'd be able to call 911.

But the pocket was empty; the phone must've fallen when she leaped up. One glance at the floor confirmed her theory, and she could see Killian's hand inching its way out to retrieve it.

"Do you now know who I am?" The man asked.

"No." She lied.

"Alright then, let me introduce myself. I embezzled from my employer, only to quit before I was caught. I then got a new job and started all over again." He said, puffing out his chest as if he was proud of his crimes.

"Sorry, not ringing a bell. You see, I catch dozens of scumbags like you every week." Although she was more scared than she'd ever been in her life (including her first night in jail), she fought to keep her face straight and her voice steady. She could do this, she  _could._ She'd survive this.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I have a permanent suite booked in a hotel downtown. I've just come back from a trip to Fiji with, who was it? Chelsea or Maria or Lucy? I can't remember, I go through so many a month."

Emma felt her stomach turn at the blase way in which he spoke about his secret girlfriends, like they were just tissues he used and then threw away after he was finished. Still, she had to keep him talking. "Fiji, huh? I hear it's nice this time of year."

The man smirked. "Indeed. Remember me now?"

"Not really. Keep talking."

_Hurry up, Killian! I can't keep him talking for too much longer._

"...after this I think I'll quit my job and start over, maybe in LA this time. Why not, right? Good weather and plenty of willing women."

"Mmm." Out of the corner of her eye, Killian flashed her a thumbs up. He slipped the phone into his pocket.

She started to relax a little. All she had to do was for him to talk a little bit longer and then they'd be saved. If she survived this she wouldn't take anything for granted ever again.

"And you can't stop me. You will  _never_ stop me. Nobody will." The man finished, suddenly lifting up the gun and aiming it straight at her heart.

She was seized by another wave of fear so violent she almost puked. But she had to stay strong, had to stay resolute. She'd never begged for anything in her life and she would not start now. Lifting her chin, she stared straight into his eyes. She could glare at him as she died, hoping that her image would be forever burned in his brain, haunting him for all of eternity.

"You think you're so clever, staking out in front of my hotel. But what you didn't know was that I've been watching you too. You see, I have friends in, shall we say, lots of places. They tipped me off about you, and so I watched you that entire night you sat in front of my hotel, and now I've found you. And now you will die."

It all happened so fast she didn't even know what happened until she was on the ground.

Someone yelled her name, a loud crack sounded in the air, and a hard force collided against her side.

Emma was confused. She was lying on the ground, her head aching where it had slammed against the hard floor; a bump was already forming. The tangy, metallic smell of blood had filled the air, a smell that would be impossible to forget.

But she wasn't bleeding. The bullet hadn't hit her.

Then...who?

There was a choked cough to her side, and a shaky hand found its way to hers. "Emma…"

Her blood ran cold as the missing pieces became clear. "No, no, no." She said as she flipped up and saw him. "No."

It was obvious now. He'd protected her, pushed her aside, gotten in front of her, and taken the bullet. For her.

Around her, she could see people screaming, crying, panicking. The man with the gun looked stunned too.

"Why?!" She cried. Blood had stained his light t-shirt a dark color, and she immediately shrugged off her jacket and pressed it to the wound. His eyes were beginning to close, his body shivering uncontrollably though the room was warm, as the shock began to set in. "Killian! Why?!"

Suddenly the doors burst open as several cops came in. "Everybody freeze!"

She barely noticed as the men were restrained and handcuffed, their guns seized. People began to run out, the chaos filtering all around her. All she could see, all she could focus on was Killian, who lay gasping for breath in her arms.

He'd done it, called the cops, but it was too late.

"It's going to be ok. They're going to call an ambulance and take you to the hospital and everything's going to be fine." Tears had begun to make their way down her face, clouding her vision.

"No." He gasped. His eyes opened and she could see an eerie calm in them. "L-listen to me, Emma. I'm not going to make it."

"Don't say that! You're going to be fine! We're gonna go see the Imagine Dragons this weekend and...and…" Her words were becoming more and more incoherent. "Please, just hang on. For me."

"Emma…"

She knew her words her fruitless, as his hands were growing colder and colder in her sweaty ones. "Listen to me, Swan. I want you to promise me something."

"Anything." She responded. "I'll do anything for you."

"Promise me that you'll move on."

"I-"

"Promise me." He interrupted. "I want you to be happy. I don't want you to be miserable over that bastard anymore. Move on and live your life. You deserve so much more than what he did to you."

"Alright." She choked, nodding rapidly for emphasis. "I promise."

"Good." He smiled.

"I'm sorry," Her shoulders began to shake as she felt him slip farther and farther away. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't be. I'd do anything for you in a heartbeat. You know that." He tried to keep his voice strong and steady but she knew that time was almost up. "I love you."

She only hesitated slightly before saying her next words. "I love you too."

A small smile spread across his face; his hand reached up to cup her cheek. "I know, Emma. I've always known."

"And I'm sorry it took so long for me to admit it. If I had sooner-"

"No. Don't. It doesn't matter now."

"I know." She said, her words thick with tears. "I know."

But nothing he could say would ever erase this feeling inside of her. It wasn't guilt that he'd taken the bullet for her. It was regret. Regret so consuming, so thick, so strong, that she would never be alright again.

Emma leaned down and found her way to his lips. It was neither loving nor gentle. Far from, actually. It was fierce and desperate and longing. Their lips moved against each other, trying to each other's touch and scent.

And for a beautiful moment, everything seemed to flow away. The cries, the voices, the tears. It was just them, two pieces of a broken heart. His cold hand encircled her wrist, pulling her close, and her arms wrapped around him so that she was unable to move away, so that they were entangled around each other.

Despite the total terror and dread in the pit of her stomach, every inch of her body was vibrating with pleasure. If this was what it felt like to kiss him she should've kissed him a lot more. When they'd had that fake fight. Or even better, the day they'd met.

She barely noticed as he gradually stilled until it was just her lips moving against his, her lips desperately pressing against his cold ones. She felt nothing, heard nothing, noticed nothing save for him.

When the ambulance finally arrived, they had to drag her away from his body. He was long gone by then, and so was she. Her mind had grown hollow and numb, her thoughts still wrapped around him. Couldn't talk, couldn't do anything except for stare blankly at him. Somebody whispered something about shock, and a blanket was wrapped around her as they collected his body.

* * *

Killian watched as an orderly zipped up the bag containing his body. It was a little eerie, seeing one's own body when one was just...hovering over.

His heart broke (or was that accurate, since he technically didn't have a heart anymore) as he saw Emma huddling over his body, her shoulders heaving as she cried. She didn't know it yet, but he was already gone.

How oddly fitting that he would die in the same way that Milah had? Except this time he hadn't failed. Maybe that's why he hadn't been able to successfully kill himself; he had always been condemned to die like this.

He wished there was a way to comfort her, let her know that she'd be fine. But he knew he didn't need to. His short presence in her life had given her something she hadn't had for so long.

Hope. The hope that she would be able to move on and be happy again.

He knew without a doubt that in time she'd be fine. She was resilient, and she'd gone through so much she had the strength to work through this too.

But God, he'd miss her  _so_ much.

As he floated higher and higher, as Emma's image grew smaller and smaller, he smiled, finally at peace, the guilt that had haunted him for years finally gone. He now knew why he hadn't died sooner-it was because he had to help Emma. And now that he had, he could move on as well.

* * *

_Present day_

She was taken to the hospital later, in a separate ambulance. Checked out for injuries, received treatment for the small cut they'd discovered on her head. And the whole time she could still feel him, feel the softness of his lips, the stubble against her face.

The grief would set in later, along with the pain from her head and fatigue from being rushed around from place to place. But for now, her thoughts were entirely consumed by him. She could see his image dancing before her eyes, hear his accented voice in her head as he mocked her for always sticking to the same drink, smell his spicy aftershave.

It was so starkly clear that she half believed he was still there with her. Maybe he was just around the corner, going to get some food. He'd be back in a couple minutes and sit down next to her, pressing his leg against hers, the warmth from his body making her feel better than she had in ages.

If she had admitted her feelings sooner they could've been together for longer. Could've gone on their first date, could've had their first fight, their first makeup. But actually, could they? This would've still happened even if she'd kissed him sooner. There had been no way to predict this.

It didn't matter anymore, Emma decided. No matter what, she couldn't change the past. What was important was that for the past two weeks, she'd been something she hadn't for over 10 years.

Happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for the ending!


End file.
